The Stand - A Second Ending
by SteveofCaley
Summary: An alternate ending to Stephen King's novel The Stand. (Requires a little familiarity with plot and characters of that novel.)
1. Judy Blue

Preamble

Here's how this story got going. I just read T _ **he Stand**_ recently. Somewhere in the latter half of the book, when the tension between the Free Zone and the Bad Place began to wind itself up, around the place in the book when Mother Abagail vanished, I began to have a hint how the book might end. As the unread part of the book became shorter and shorter, I became more tense and excited to see how this ending might start up and play out. However, in the end, he closed the book in a very Stephen King way, and entirely differently than I expected.

By this time, my own thoughts on the ending had gotten so detailed as to make for a story of its own. I enjoyed picking through both the King story and my story, and I wondered what I might do with my own private ending.

I offer it here to other readers of _The Stand_.

One critique of Mr. King's book, _The Stand_ – he had this epidemic influenza, and all these people who quickly dropped dead of this flu. That means that the population of the US started at 248,709,873, and rather quickly dropped to 1,492,259 folks, more or less.

That's a lot of dead people. Yet Mr. King kinda delicately stays away from the magnitude of the number of corpses & corpsettes strewn about the land of the free etc. That's about 4.97 million ex-folks per state, more or less. So some of my narrative is disgusting, since I have to pick up the pieces, just by writing about folks getting around and tripping over them, etc. Don't blame me. Blame Captain Trips.

Judy Blue

Judy rolled into the Free Zone unnoticed. It was around early summer, late June, shortly after the horror hit; before Boulder, Colorado became known as the Free Zone and shook off its first scene as Deadville, Colorado; a week after Captain Trips put out his Monster Hit Single that topped the charts and rolled across the country, dominated day after day, and blew out America; after the tanks had stopped rolling and the dying hand of Order & Authority stiffened up with _rigor mortis_ ; when Judy Blue rolled up in the rosy-fingered dawn, up out of the pitiful morgue that was Denver.

The hot dry wind, the Southeast wind blew dust and stench across high prairie from Oklahoma; over Denver, picking up the sweet charnel smell of a few thousand tons of sun-dried people slowly baking into jerky, and then over Boulder. Three or four days into the Big Dieoff, the bellies in Deadville started to pop like giant wet popcorn kernels. People put bandannas across their faces - sprinkled with peppermint oil, it dulls the smell. Otherwise, try witch hazel or spearmint schnapps.

Bellies swell up into stretchy, bruisy gas bags, and pop a wet report like distant gunfire - more of a boom than a crack, although sometimes it's a loud crack-and-splat if the remains lie nearby. Or else, if the belly wall rots first, up comes a fat black gas rope of intestine through the void, looking ever so much like a grotesque, formless dark balloon animal, big around as a fist. That usually lets go quietly, although sometimes there's a flatulent bubbly hiss, like a bike tire under water bubbling away when you check it for a flat. The blatting, burbling commotion lasts about a minute. Kids would pop them with BB guns here and there.

The wind came up from Denver one afternoon that first bad week, not too many folks had an appetite that day. By another week, the Death Farts subsided, and the smell went down to just Dead Raccoon nasty, not enough to vomit. She came up the east face of the Sangre de Cristo range, on the East Slope of the Rockies to the Raton Pass, and thence up by Colorado Springs.

She was ever stoic, ever silent. She was a fine young lady, with a nice-looking form and face; but an expression set with grim resolve that wouldn't lift even when she laughed. Something silent dogged her down. Real notable eyes, too - blue and deep, real windows into the soul, but sorrowful.

She started to make some friends with the college kids around town - the Free Zone and the survivors' dreams were awful new.

Judy Blue wasn't her real name. That's her nickname after... well, after. She told her new friends that she dreamed of Mother Abagail. She said that Mother Abagail and the Free Zone and the Walkin' Dude began to drift into her dreams some time before the plague hit. She didn't seem like a girl who would make that stuff up.

Mother Abagail was near enough to Boulder; Judy would wait for her in Boulder, not truck up to Nebraska. Her new friends would hesitantly tell of their dreams of the Black Cloud that had come to the desert looming over the farlands. The Walkin' Man, the Hard Case, the Evil One.

She would say nothing of her dreams; but her eyes would glitter, and she would stare off at the mountains, her mouth grim. She'd imply that the Walkin' Dude didn't fit into her particular view of the world, and that he'd best be moving on. You could imagine her staring down a telescopic sight, aiming patiently. It gave the other folks the heebie-jeebies, sometimes.

Judy came into town remarkably well stocked up, like a mountaineer or woodsman. Came in a big Dooley pickup, with jump tanks for extra gas, hauling a covered trailer.

She always was particular about that trailer. What it contained was nobody's business. She did mention that she hauled 10,000 rounds of .22 for needs be, and later on, a big-game rifle and other wilderness and survival stuff. The Weatherby was a big-game caliber. Judy went hunting shortly after she moved in to her place. There was a fine elk roast that evening down at the campground that was the old park by the University. Her and Jesús and his brother would go up hunting – nobody else. Those two fellas could lug an elk carcass out of the woods to the trailer after it was field-dressed and butchered. She was good at that, as well. She had an air that she was good at most things she set her mind to.

Judy moved in to a house up north of the University off Iris. Like everyone else, getting nice housing wasn't a big challenge. You wanted to get one that you could heat in the winter, get well water nearby, and all the previous occupants had the courtesy to bloat up and go bang someplace else. Mr. Sandoval had settled in one street over, and a few other neighbors – live ones, that is – were sprinkled by here and there.

Jesús – "Chúy" he went by, and his brother Al lived up that way. They were up from Costilla County with his brother, and he was awful slow, brother not a whole lot better. Baca was their family name. They were metalworkers and carvers, producing some remarkably small and delicate pieces, being that they were such big men.

They'd winter in, down South in the San Luís Valley, and craft and mold and hammer jewelry for most of the fall and winter. Sometimes the snow came, and sealed everybody into the valley until Spring. Later, they'd come over the mountains in the late mountain Spring to sell in Colorado Springs and Denver. Some of their prettier stuff went for well into the thousands in Denver. They'd pick up jewels and materials after they sold their pieces –silver, some gold, and occasional rarer metals – and head back down home for a settle-in, around late Summer.

You probably haven't spent much time thinking on taphonomy - it's really a spectator science, it is. The archaeologists talk of it rather swift, as "the transition from remains to fossils." Here in the New New World, it was Taphonomy 101, and everyone was on an unending field trip.

The High Plains and Rockies are dry, and bodies tend more to mummify than rot, except for the bellies - no matter where you go, it's the Big Bang Theory for corpses, unless they're frozen or embalmed and such. In the less-congested towns in the flatlands and mountains, there were enough hungry wild animals to quickly get after the corpses. As the predator birds go for fat (and eyeballs), most cadavers got peeled quick, especially the face. The critters with teeth would get after the meat.

A place like Boulder, there were more corpses than the wild could handle, so they just lay around lazy, like a street bum - _"Buddy, can ya spare a life?"_ bums. Down in a big place like Denver and the Springs, you had to rely on our friendly fellow-traveling species, the rats and pigeons, to get down with it, I suppose.

Judy moved into a nice bungalow north a bit, with a huge spread for a city - maybe two acres. Her the trailer sat tight up by the house on the North side. She'd let you walk on through her house anytime of day or night if she wasn't home - that's how country folk do it. But don't go nosing around the North side of the house. You'd get a scolding, and that from a girl who drops elk at 600 yards, it makes you think.

Except for one or two pals, she kept to herself, not much to speak of, a plain girl. Not "plain," like mean girls say, but plain like frontier - make it work, make it last, use it up, make do. Comfortable being by herself.

The Dooley, she lent free out to anyone needing it. It sure was handy for making a haul out of Denver. It damn well better come back fit, clean and everything stowed and shiny. Like everyone else who came, she settled in, got her place clean and her lot all ready The Free Zone continued to grow in dribs and drabs. That could have been the end of the story if all stayed quiet, but it didn't.


	2. In the Free Zone

**Chapter 2 Judy**

Judy Hernandez settled in smart, and made a couple of friends. She was very quiet, and had a habit of rolling down to the University or the public library to read. It didn't take long for people to realize that she was awful damn shrewd, especially for a twenty-year-old. She wouldn't ever come out and tell you more than you wanted to know – there's blowhards who do – but if you got onto some topic or other, she'd come in with that key little point that answered the question or solved the problem. Folks who were struggling to make some order in Boulder used to welcome her to their talks and gatherings and such.

Since this story carries customs and habits from the Mountain West, the word "Indian" gets used a lot. Quite a few Southwestern folk called themselves Indians, before the plague. There used to be quite a bunch around the Rocky Mountain West before Captain Trips made the big time. He sure was a one-hit wonder, but he was on everyone's lips. Captain Trips wiped out a bunch of the Pueblos and smaller tribes. The Indians on the Big Rez, Hopi and Navajo and Zuni, there were enough of them to keep from going completely extinct or becoming Lost, and it was remote enough that the epidemic was somewhat blunted.

There were a few Lost Indians in Boulder. Their little worlds were simply too small to survive Captain Trips. Killing off 99.4% of folks meant that one in a thousand survived – and if your whole Pueblo was a thousand people, you could wind up as the Last Mohican.

It's like shelling out an oyster, and throwing its soft body back into the sea. You can do it, but don't fool yourself into thinking you're doing the oyster a favor by setting it free. The kindest thing to happen to that oyster is if a gull catches it on the way down.

It doesn't set well to think that over the last couple hundred years, there's been plenty of Last Mohicans whose culture just went up-and-bang, and not from benign purpose either. Some wandered around the Free Zone with haunted eyes, and it wasn't just Indians – there were all sorts of folks whose little corner of the universe blew up and went to shit that June. In fact, the folks in the Free Zone got to calling them all lost Indians, even if they weren't Native Americans or some such.

They usually took to reprehensible behavior, like laying around being nasty all the time, getting drunk and killing each other in fights, getting infected by the Wicked Way of the Walkin' Dude and turning West. Or, like so many of the survivors of the Nazi Camps, would up hanging themselves. Surviving the camps or surviving the plague, and then to take your own life – why? But when someone went over to being a Lost Indian, there was no way to save them.

You have to look at this emptiness and futility, you can't shy away and immerse yourselves in the Bold New Future, without looking at Big Evil – because Big Evil's been hanging around the campsites of the human species since we began. If you're going to struggle with Big Evil, you have to know what the odds really are.

There was something about Judy that played in counterpoint to evil and despair and hopelessness. She wasn't a gentle spirit to comfort and mother and cheer up the downtrodden. She had some sharp edges. But, when it came to evil persons or things, she was, in a way, invisible.

She herself, a brilliant gal, might describe it as the physics of evil. Like in relativistic physics, her being somehow bent the lines of evil, much like mass bends the space-time continuum. A black hole won't show up as a black dot in space; its immense mass bends the light around itself like a lens, its path curving like a wheat kernel or sunflower seed. All you see, from a distance, is a distortion of the background behind it. Its very mass makes the black hole invisible.

Evil just couldn't quite see her - what they saw was a shimmer, a bubble in the light, a wavy horizon, something like that, I think.

That part wasn't very obvious until Harold Lauder came into town with the Nebraska travelers. Harold treated her in an especially peculiar way than his usual, being a selfish, sex-starved punk. He seemed to ignore her. If someone was talking to him about her, or her ideas, or such, he looked at them like Tom Cullen would look at a blackboard covered with integral calculus.

It was a little mean, but when folks were talking and Harold Lauder got particularly obnoxious and bothersome, they'd deliberately get onto the topic of Judy – Judy says, Judy thinks – and it was like hypnotizing a chicken, the way he'd go out. Not asleep, but like his attention drove off down the road, and after a few minutes, it was out of sight.

But that's jumping ahead, talking about Harold. He hadn't even made it down from Nebraska with the other folks. That didn't happen for a while


	3. Looking South

Chapter 3 Meeting

The Free Zone was still new-new, weren't more than a few dozen people about and they used to gather at the park down by the University and swap tales and treasures and such. Everyone still shaken up with the world going to hell in a handbasket, but after a few weeks of blind mourning, they got onto the subject of civilization. Nothing high and mighty, just getting some utilities going again, as folks who couldn't stand using an outhouse in Summer began to contemplate using on in the Colorado Winter, and figured as they might need to upgrade their village a bit when the deep frost hit Boulder.

There was plenty of news coming in from the East – and plenty of people, too. That seemed to be all that was interesting to them, from Baltimore to Atlanta and Memphis to Detroit, nice to hear stories from the good ol' hometown, but what about the other directions, which were a lot more relevant to their survival than good ol' Cincinnati?

Judy offered in what she knew of the South, in her guarded and reserved way. The Baca brothers were up and down Colorado from the San Juan valley to Denver a lot, so they knew that area some. A few mountaineers had come down from Idaho and Alberta, and some other northern plains people from the Dakotas and Montana. It was quiet, the Lakota had survived but were spooked by the die-off, and they didn't allow travel West across their homelands now. They thought that the plague came from the West; a good reckoning.

About the world from the Rockies to the Pacific Ocean, pretty much zippo. It seemed that amongst the Free Zone folk, there was nothing but a childish disquiet that there was a Bad Guy someplace Far West who wished them all sorts of bad wishes.

"First off," said Judy,"how have we been keeping in touch with the Navajo? Do we have a listening post down south, up north, over the mountain in Grand Junction?"

Not too many folks seemed to snap to the principle. "C'mon, now" said Judy. "The Navajo hold our southern flank. Our entire survival might depend on our relationship with them. Who's been down there?"

The Baca brothers knew some Navajo folks and towns along the way to Sierra Blanca, but had figured they'd likely pull back West and consolidate, being decimated by the plague."

"I think we best ought go down to Farmington, over to the Big Rez and Shiprock, Window Rock, and have some talk with our neighbors. I'll do it personally – who's with me?"

Mr. Sandoval raised up his hand, and Chuy and his brother, too. Ben wouldn't see fifty again, but he still went up for elk in the Jemez with his grandsons; not young enough for heavy lifting, but he knew his stuff.

"That's across mountain," said Jack Sokoloff. "I'm in." He was a Montanan, and Bill Walsh from Wyoming raised his hand quietly, a flatland rancher out of Wyoming.

Three local Coloradans, Wayne Sandoval and Seth Locklear, who lived in the mountains, and a flatland medic from Fort Collins, Tony Westerfield.

That made for nine volunteers, more than was needed, so they all shook hands on it, and called it a deal.

They hauled out by six AM, "to beat the traffic," said Westerfield. He pattered on with a few nervous jokes and then prudently shut up for the rest of the trip, to everyone's commendation. Still, Westerfield was banished to drive the car solo for the first part of the trip - the fear of a Chatty Cathy on a seven-hour trip filled everyone with dismay.

They couldn't take the Baca boys – they were just too damn big to fit in the car without being all squshed up against each other. You know, the Anglo way of saying "Chuy" comes out as "Chewie," and " _Chew Baca_ " still raised a snicker from the wittier folks who met him. Mostly because it fit perfect.

So it was the seven riders who left for Navajo Country.


	4. Towards Farmington

**Chapter 4 Run to Farmington**

It was about four hundred miles down to Farmington. They had fitted out three pickups with a trailer; one carried a gas tanker with about seventy gallons, and another truck was a diesel - they could pick up diesel on the way; and a nice new rough-country auto, forget the make.

One truck was a beaut, a rancher's pride - a brand-new Ram Pickup, top-shelf, 6.2 liter. A present from Captain Trips, through the dealership down in Denver.

The Baca boys came by to see them off. It was pretty clear when they all talked last night that, even though Chúy and his brother knew the land down in the East Valley as home, it didn't extend too far West. They were walkers and climbers, not riders.

Jesús pulled Judy aside with a soft, giant hand, and held forth two tiny boxes in his other. "Here, they are for you. You must have them," he said with an excited and pleading whisper.

She opened the small white jewelry box, to find an alabaster white bear, rough-hewn but perfectly formed. A standing bear with one paw forward, as though patting at some empty log or hive. It caught the morning's sun and glowed with inner purity. It was on a long golden chain. She put it around her neck, and he reached to the nape of her neck and clicked it down – even though his thumb was the size of her palm, he had a delicate touch.

She looked at herself in the car mirror, the bear glowing in the morning sun. "Thank you, Chúy," she said.

The other box had a translucent lid, and inside was a small golden disc the size of a dime. It was convex and perfectly polished on the front. On the back was an engraving of a wolf standing and watching. In the lower right section was a very tiny maker's mark – a standing bear. The fine gold chain allowed the disk to hang just below the hollow of her throat.

"Oh, my!" she said, taken by its delicate plainness.

"Your eyes are blue, like sky is blue. This is like the Sun, he lives in the sky. Wear it always to keep you safe."

"The little bear must hang below the sun. They like its warmth. Always wear him when you are in in Alamosa, and think of me."

Chuy smiled beatifically, and turned and walked away.

 **Travel.**

They hauled out by six AM, "to beat the traffic," said Westerfield, and then prudently shut up for the rest of the trip, to everyone's approbation. Still, Westerfield was banished to drive the car solo for the first part of the trip - the fear of a Chatty Cathy on a seven-hour trip filled everyone with dismay.

The car was laden up with the nice things, the gifts and such. The heavy gifts and other stuff went in one of the pickups. Ten thousand rounds of .30-06 and a thousand each of shotgun, bird in various gauges. A thousand .308 for the long-gun rifle. Plenty of medicines, especially antibiotics, bandages and dressings, scrubs and gloves and disinfectant. Folks who live in a part of the country where the Plague still exists, do appreciate their disinfectant.

Plague, actually, beats down quite well with tetracycline. Get it at the horse and cattle supply; it's no different than the people stuff. Of course, the FDA and CDC would scream and holler if they thought people were using horse drugs. In sad irony, there WAS no FDA or CDC anymore, they'd been wiped out by a plague that was their own damn fault, sort of.

Hard candies, stuff that would do well out in the truck; some sugar and flower, and nice spices here and there. Cumin and oregano are always welcome. A couple bags of pinto beans and some rice, and dried corn. A little masa harina, a little nice cooking oil, some canned goods here and there.

 **Into Center, Colorado**

They rolled down the valley into Center near Alamosa in late morning; stopped for a piss, gas and nibble, and a well-deserved stretch, and a little shopping. Not much there, but it was the produce aisle, sure.

If you were the only people left in the world, which they damn near were, and had never seen the Alamosa basin and the San Luis valley, you might suspect that you were in the middle of the world, ringed by high mountains still bonneted with snow.

Taters weren't up yet, but some carrots were fine, and some tomatoes. Twenty, thirty pounds in the back of the car, which was cool enough with the windows down to bring vegetables. They took a summer route down by Pagosa Springs, up across Del Norte and South Fork. The drive was beautiful late Spring in the Rockies; the flatlanders kept loving the scenery, and sometimes fearing the long drop off from the mountain roads.

The wild mountain critters were out a little, although it was daytime. During a stretch, they spotted a puma up on a cool forest rock, deep in the woods, lying patient enough for a good look with the binoculars. Sidestepped Durango, and made it down to Aztec by three. They picked up the gorgeous Animas that ran down out of Durango and followed into town.

 **Into Aztec, NM**

They stopped in town for a pee and a stretch. The town, like everyplace, was utterly vacant and without a hint of life; the tumbleweeds blew marvelously through the hot streets. They drew the trucks into a circle up at the Wal-Mart parking lot in Aztec, and heated up some canned black beans and carrots over a small campfire in a grassy island. No chance of a fire going anywhere, surrounded by a dozen acres of asphalt.

Jack had rode down with Judy all the way, and when she went off for a girl pee, he muttered - "You know, that gal don't say three, four words all the way down. It's unusual, but I been looking forward for someone to talk to."

They all had ten years on her, Mr. Sandoval thirty; but she was the purpose of this whole trip, and had an air of command that was surprisingly smooth and effective for an expedition of rugged and independent men.

She come back, and Tony , Doc - he wasn't a real doc, but he had been a combat medic, and all the company called him Doc - anyhow, Doc/Tony whispered, "Something's making me feel kinda funny."

Walsh roared at that. "Something's making you look kinda funny, too, but you should blame your parents."

Doc flipped him the bird, friendly-like, and said - "You gettin' a feel - how empty Aztec is here now?"

Martinez looked at him all straight, and said, "We've been meaning to tell you, son. There's been a real bad epidemic called Captain Trips...Are you just picking up on that, 'migo? Walsh snorted a bean out his nose, and rolled back, grabbing for his bandanna and laughing.

"No, I mean - fuck you - I mean, kinda TOO empty - like we're being watched?"

Judy spoke up. "Mr. Westerfield's right. We are being watched." She always called them Mister Somebody - a blend of Western manners and commander's protocol.

"We come in to Navajo lands, and we best be on our good behavior. I haven't talked to an Indian since the epidemic, and they've gotta be twice as jumpy as we are. Whatever we come across, we have to back down, turn the other cheek, be nonviolent no matter what. If something goes down, that will keep us alive."

They all nodded, solemnly. If you didn't look at her, or pay attention to the pitch of her voice, she was damned good at command. That's for sure.

Farmington, NM.

They all pulled over on the side of the road just before the "Welcome to Farmington!" sign, a puff of hot dust marking their arrival.

Judy hopped out and faced north, and they all assembled in front of her. A few dropped to parade rest, not really thinking about it. They waited for her to start out.

"As you know, we're here to get to know our neighbors, or establish diplomatic relations for the Free Zone, or whatever you want to call it."

"We go into Farmington, and get towards the west side of town on Main Street. We look around for a good hotel that's worth using - they're all pretty near downtown."

"If you've been riding with a holster or sidearm, disarm and put everything in the car, if there's room. Don't wear a duster, nothing but a denim jacket. People will be watching you, and they will want to know if you're armed. From now on, all weapons stay in the hotel. If a firearm is discharged in town, we turn around and go back home, if we make it that far."

"If you see anyone watching you, ignore them. Don't wave, and don't react if you hear any noises after dark. We are in a reasonably safe place. React to nothing - and you won't get hurt."

She paused, as the men started looking around at each other, uneasily. She was asking them to place all their safety, all their trust in her hands. And when it all boiled down to the beans, she was a twenty-year-old girl. But there wasn't a damn thing else to do.

Okay?" and she waited for any questions. There were none.

"We settle in to the hotel a bit, unpack our personal belongings. The Ram's loaded up with gifts and presents, and tarped down nicely, thankya, gentlemen. None of the perishables are in it - no medicine or fresh produce. We run down main street, fill it up and gas up the car - we can do that with the other trucks, but maybe later."

"Mr. Sandoval, Mr. Sandoval, clear your stuff from the Ram at the hotel. About one hour after we arrive, take the Ram west on the 64 out of town. Watch for a sign that says "Welcome to the Navajo Reservation. Stop the truck on pavement, off-road if you can find it. Don't cross the border - stop in the road if you have to. I'll be following in the car. That's where we leave the truck."

"Do we need a detail to unload?"

"No. We just leave the whole thing there, including the truck."

"You're giving them THE TRUCK, too?" Ben Sandoval pissed off. They had picked out the best truck that they could find from the new stock in Denver. It had just turned 500 miles. It still had the new truck smell. Wayne Martinez turned and began woefully wiping the bugs off the windshield where the wipers hadn't got. They looked like mourners wiping down a hearse. That was a nice truck.

"Leave the truck, engine off and keys clipped on the door with a carabiner. Unlocked."

"Is it going to be safe?" asked Tom Westerfield, always a flatlander. "What if somebody steals it?"

Jack Sokoloff chuckled. "Tom, IT'S gonna be fine. IT'S gonna be around next week. Your little pink ass, though, can't say for sure."

Jack went on. "We're in Indian Country now, Tom. Don't you get it? We're at their home, and our safety is entirely dependent on our hosts. We've rolled in unexpectedly. Let them do what they do, on their time."

Judy nodded, as Tom offered, "Is it really proper to call it Indian Country? I mean, shouldn't we be saying..."

Ben Sandoval chimed in, "Dammit, leave all that Boulder PC horseshit at home. Indians call Indians 'Indians' out this way, and call it 'Indian Country' or 'the Big Rez' or whatever they damn well want. They're not on notice for our political correctness. They're asking whether or not to let us leave alive. White folks have been nimble with the fucking words for hundreds of years. Where'd that get the Indian folk? Don't call them Indians - don't call them Native Americans. In fact, just shut up and speak when you're spoken to. Friendly tip from a Hispano-American. Don't be a gabacho."

Walsh, just for mostly to shake off the boredom and the aches of the road, put to boot in a little, too. He hadn't been asked to be on his best behavior since last time he went to church. That had been a while.

"Do you know anything about the real history of the Indians in the Southwest? I hope to God you don't. Captain Trips has called for closin' time and pay up, and it's the Anglo folks that pretty much gone broke and walked away. White folks means Europeans too, ain't no difference. Ain't no sympathy gonna that get you, anyhow. We've walked in, and we're at their disposal. So dummy up."

Now, nobody disliked Tom, don't get me wrong. They were all nervous, and tired and grouchy, and needed to shake off a bit of the trail. They'd be up sitting around in an hour or so, having a small nip of the fine stuff at the hotel, just fine. Except Judy. She looked like the kind of gal that didn't drink, and to tell the truth, they were all a little in awe of her. She slid into the role of Commanding Officer, god-knows-how and hallelujah! did it fit her fine. Every day's a jump ball, in the New Way of Things.

So it was done. And the evening and the morning were the first day in the Land of the Diné.

 _As an aside, like I talked before about names and such, the Navajo call themselves the Diné. They're not as sensitive what you call them, and much more sensitive about what you're trying to call them._

 _The meanest word in the Navajo language is the meanest word in English, too. "Them." Once somebody becomes a "Them," you can beat THEM, kill THEM, torment and enslave THEM. "THEM" has killed more people than ten Captain Trips combined. So throughout this narrative, Diné and Navajo go back and forth, meaning about the same, and if the narrative uses one wrong where the other belongs, well, have pity on the bilga'ana. We just don't have the tradition that other people have in telling stories, especially stories that contain the truth._


	5. At the Border to the Navajo Nation

That morning, down at the free breakfast buffet, which wasn't itself worth trying as the mice had gotten into the Cheerios and Frosted Flakes and Cap'n Crunch, the fridge was unspeakable and the freezer unexamined, but they fried up a can of Spam or two and some mesa-cake tortillas, thank you Wal-Mart at Aztec, and coffee, of course. And they brought sugar - and of course those little _Mini-Cremers_ at the buffet never go bad, having been through a plague and a couple months of room temperature. One or two were gnawed into - but the rodents preferred the cereal fare, it was clear.

They all sat around and had what would be called a Breakfast Power Meeting in the old days, and had breakfast for sure. Power, either electrical or personal, wasn't much of that. The blinds were open, and the day was already warming up.

Jack strolled around the second-floor veranda that collared the hotel. Nobody had asked him to smoke his cigar at breakfast. He would have, if they asked. There were some fresh gouges in the wood on the railing, a good three inches apart. Some good-size critter had spent the night up on that railing, sharpened its claws, raking tracks a good foot long, and like to be an inch deep. He stubbed out his cigar, and went down to breakfast, where they were figuring out the next step.

"Well, as Eve said to Adam, what the fuck do we do NOW?" offered Jack.

They turned to Judy, who did the unexpected. She shrugged, and said "Any ideas?" It was a fine move in Team Leadership, but it made everyone nervous. There was only one thing to do, though.

"Well," Seth suggested, "we just have to drive out to the border there and get out and wait. I wonder how long we'll have to wait? Should we send up a signal or some such?"

"I figure they'll probably let us stand around for a half-hour or so, let us declare our intentions, and then come down with the greeting party." Tom, insightfully.

"Everybody got some identification?" Judy asked.

Surprised, they checked. They all had billfolds. Seth opened his, and a badge flashed.

"You sworn?" Asked Judy.

Seth grimaced. "Yeah, I'm a back-up deputy in Gunnison County, in case they run out of regulars. Hey! Guess what, they did! I'm a regular deputy now! I expect, that even makes me sheriff! I'll sure as hell vote for myself!"

Ben Sandoval pushed back from the table. "Let's get started, before he turns into the fucking Governor of Colorado," _Laughs._

"One thing now," Judy said. "By the way, who's a veteran here?" They all raised their hands. "Army." "Marines." "Air Force," said Walsh.

Locklear, Marine, looked at Walsh. "Ah. A gentleman's alternative to military service."

"Fuck you, Marine." said Walsh, kindly. "Mickey's little hand is on the eight, time to go. Do you know what time that means?"

"Almost every Navajo's a veteran. And we've got a sworn officer here. Listen. What I want to do here is to meet with one of the leadership - not the politicians, but the old men of the tribe that might understand what it means to set up a connection with the Free Zone."

"Not every Navajo's going to like hearing command from a twenty-year-old female. When we cross that line, Seth will be in charge, and then in turn, by military rank. What was your highest rank?"

"First Sergeant. First Lieutenant. Chief Petty Officer. Gunny. Squadron leader. Airman."

Everyone looked at Ben Sandoval. He hadn't said a lick. "Marines. Vietnam." Then a long pause. "Major." He stared at his feet.

If the military had command for "Stare with your mouth open, look stupid, HUT!" they all could have passed for a drill team. Ben looked up and looked around at everyone. "s'right. Major. Went in as private. I don't want nothing to do with command." His look of sad agony was enough. Ben wasn't part of the command structure, here or on the Big Rez. None of the Navajos would hear about this Major who served in Vietnam. Some part of him had already bloated up and gone bang, long ago. They all felt a private, tender spot for Ben.

They jammed all the perishables into the back of the car, took another pickup for the rest of the folk, and drove up to the border.

The border sign was down a little way, on the slow sweep of a hill rising West maybe fifty feet, out maybe a mile or two. They all left the vehicles back about a hundred yards. Everyone was dressed Western in jeans and boots, except for Judy. She wore a cowgirl-style long skirt that went down to her boot-tops, and a tastefully-embroidered button shirt.

The Ram was still parked there. Judy walked around it. Nothing seemed touched. But she had left three greeting cards on it - in the cab, under the wipers, and stapled four-corners to the tarp. All were gone. The staples were even taken out, and the handle polished to remove any smudges. The tarp was pulled down tighter, tight as a drum.

"They don't know what to make of us. No surprises. They inventoried our stuff. Well, they sure do seem mistrustful, see'n as how they've been screwed with for, four hundred years, maybe?" Judy.

And they waited.

Blue and gold, blue and gold are the eternal colors of the West, especially in wintertime. Come spring and summer, a little green peeps up and disappears, but it's a camo green, an olive green. Angels who painted the West, must have been colorblind, or the Eastern angels used up all the red and green. The wind rushed by a little, not bad - not kicking up the dust. Desert or grasslands, not a tree to be found, but little shrubs speckled the hills, set apart as though by a gardener, measuring the distances. Each one stayed a respectful distance from its neighbor, so as not to fight over water. If some new shrub tried to come up closer, it just wouldn't make it during the dry season.

Some small puffs of cloud came up from behind the hill. They were coming.

A brown patrol Jeep crested the hill about a hundred yards off to the left of the road. About another minute, its twin brother, a few hundred yards to the right.

About a thousand yards out, they stopped. Two men got out of each one, went around to the shadow side on the north of the Jeeps, sat down and started fiddling with something. After a few minutes, one lay prone in the shadow, with another one behind the back wheel.

Ben put his head down, hands up to cover his face. "This sucks." he said. "I hate this." He sat down in the roadway, his face covered.

Doc, came over and asked, "Something I can do for you, Ben?" He shook his head 'no.'

Seth whispered to Doc, "Those are long-range snipers. They're taking no chances."

Two more, and these were patrol cars - white, Navajo Police four-wheelers - came up in sequence, one after another, pulled over at about 250 yards out into the brushy grass. They were not subtle - you could see the glint off their scopes, and one got the shadow, one got the dog duty lying on the sunny side, on a blanket.

Two patrol cars came up and stopped about fifty yards from the border where the Ram was parked, and got out and stood in front of the car. Four of them. They didn't seem all that worried. No surprise. Six snipers on seven men - or six men and a girl.

One lifted a bullhorn and called out, one word - **"JUDY."** She'd written her name on the cards, you see.

Judy marched up the yellow line at a brisk pace. The man with the bullhorn said " _Stop. Arms up. Turn around. Proceed with arms up._ " She stopped about halfway there, put her arms up, and pirouetted slowly around; then followed with her hands raised. She wasn't armed - anyone could tell. All of the four Navajo Police had sidearms, anyway. The sunlight flashed on her golden necklace, and the alabaster bear glowed white as she turned.

She stood and talked with the officer with the bullhorn - and talked, and talked. And talked. Fifteen minutes on a desert road with nothing to do, trying one's damnedest to look un-threatening - well, it gets boring after a while.

They were called down in sequence, first was Seth. He walked all the way with his hands up. They could see him slowly drop his arms after a pat-down (the Police didn't pat down Judy, they noticed.)

He fished out his billfold, and was clearly offering his ID. Even though they couldn't hear a thing, they must have seen his star, because all of the stress seemed to pass out of the four officers; they stood relaxed and started to engage in evident small-talk, and then stopped. Seth gestured down the road. Calls and responses on the radio went on for a bit. The dog-duty snipers in close got to stand down and sit in the four-wheelers. Judy and the officers walked down the road toward the little Free Zone platoon. He must have told the police that they had a hurt man down.

The officers shooed the men off to the side, and one knelt down by Mr. Sandoval, his face still covered. The officer said, " _Sir, I'm Officer Kenny Nez of the Navajo Police, and this here's Mike Yazzie. We'd heard you were feeling poorly. Can we give you a ride up to Shiprock?_ "

Ben uncovered his face. He shook his head, 'no.' Officer Nez suggested that they ride up in the Ram, Ben and Officer Yazzie. Ben nodded yes, got up, and the three of them walked over to the truck.

Nez called for the patrol car to move out of the left-hand side of the road up ahead, and they helped Ben into the passenger's side of the truck. Yazzie started it up and they moved slowly west until the truck disappeared from sight.

That left the five, back standing around. Nez asked them for names, and driver's licenses. He took the licenses, and radioed in the five names.

" _Down the road, one at a time, on the yellow line, arms up. Start when I call your name_."

Doc Tony fretted. " _Can we just leave the car sitting on the road?_ " Nez looked at him very seriously, and said " _We never ticket on weekends_."


	6. Shiprock Chapter House

**At the Shiprock Chapter House.**

After they came across the border to the patrol cars, there was more standing around while Nez talked on the radio, in the patrol car. The snipers were given the wave, mobilized, and headed off over the hill in wisps of dust. The little delegation was cleared to go up to Shiprock Chapter House for a quick review.

 _"What about our belongings?"_

 _"They will be sorted out and brought to you in Window Rock. Your clothes will be cleaned and disinfected."_ Navajos took no chances, and by the looks of distaste, they didn't think that the Bilga'ana knew how to keep clean.

There was a little commotion, and of course a massive delay and banter when they had pulled Seth's license and called it in. Now, Locklear is a common enough name, but a real common Navajo name, so Seth had to answer about a billion questions about NOT being Navajo, thanks for the compliment, and phone calls placed off to ranch stations to know if anyone had heard of a Seth Locklear, and such, and came to naught, naturally. It was just a name, turns out. There WAS a Seth Locklear up by Teec Nos Pos. Not that guy, no.

 **Shiprock.**

Just like prisoners, they all had to strip down and shower, a matron watching Judy, Yazzie watching the men. It was a half-hour mandatory shower, and they had to use Nix - a flea and tick dip - and a foul brown shampoo that smelled like fresh road tar.

Then, the doctor out of NNMC examined them - right out of the shower, no gowns or such, just buck-naked.

After that, they were declared "decontaminated." They waited for their clothes to go through the laundry. And waited.

Instead, they were offered second-hand clothes from the local church donation box. The officers were dressed in their street clothes. At the end of the parking lot, the two patrol cars sat nose-to-nose, stuffed with laundry, burning.

Captain Trips seems to have really gotten on the Navajos' nerves.

 **Window Rock.**

While they waited, an older, greyhaired lady in Western dress came to meet with Judy, alone. Navajos – the more they respect you, the less they have to say. Tourist fools at the gift shops, they'll banter and patter and jaw about every damn thing someone asks. But this lady sat down across for Judy silently, looked at her. Looked especially at her golden amulet, and the white bear. After a few minutes of watching and contemplating Judy, she stood swiftly and noiselessly, and raised an eyebrow, as clear as a command that Judy should accompany her. She walked past the carpeted walls, Judy noiselessly following.

They spent an hour or two, off in the recesses of the Chapter House. When they came back, Judy was as grim and silent as customary for her. Her companion turned and walked off silently. She sat at a table next to her other travelers, looking at the wall silently. She had nothing to say.

The trip to Window Rock was called off. You might recall that Window Rock is the nation's capital for the Diné, "the people," as Navajos call themselves. Clearly, the leaders were having second thoughts about bringing the bilga'ana too close to home. So the guests waited, and waited, for a small contingent to drive up the hundred or so miles from Window Rock.

A shorty limo pulled up, flags on the corners – an official vehicle. Out stepped one man in a dark business suit, looking every bit the lawyer, and a few elders more traditionally dressed, who clearly outranked the man in the suit.

They entered, and were give a few minutes to settle in, while the guests lingered in the eastern foyer.

Edmond Tsipei gathered them all around a meeting room with a yellow wood table in the center, local rugs across the round walls. He was the Attorney-General of the Navajos. He had come with the elders to read the Indictment in the name of the people.


	7. Edmond Tsipei Speaks

Edmond Tsipei Speaks.

"You must understand how these horrible times have been for the Diné folks. By tradition, this place has been our home, the Dinétah, where the First People came up to the Fourth World upon the rising of the Great Water."

"There are six holy mountains on the land of the Dinétah, four that mark the corners of our world. That is where we are meant to be. The world was so, before the coming of the outsiders, the bilagáana."

"Our dealings with the bilagáana have always brought us sorrow. Your people drove us from the Mountain of the East. Your people put us on the Hwéeldi - the deathwalk - a hundred and fifty years ago. We were marched three hundred miles, and placed in a camp beside our enemy, the Mescalero Apache. Brother Howard Gorman said - "our ancestors were taken captive and driven to Hwéeldi for no reason at all. They were harmless people, and, even to date, we are the same, holding no harm for anybody...Many Navajos who know our history and the story of Hwéeldi say the same." After six years, we had dwindled to less than ten percent of our population surviving. We were allowed to return home. Many clans became extinct."

"The bilagáana always see what needs to be, and ask, "Why, why, why?" But when they see things that do not need to be, they never ask."

"And we have endured. We have been good Americans - great Americans. Almost every Navajo male has served his country in military service. Navajos are buried in many foreign lands, under the US flag. We are harmless people - we are helpful people. We are a selfless and loyal people. Perhaps this has brought us much harm."

"The bilagáana have again brought the curse by deviltry in their deep laboratories, making poison near our homes in Arizona, and once again, the Navajo population is blighted, nearly destroyed. Most of our family and friends are gone. We, too, are gathering to survive this plague brought on by the bilagáana."

"You may wish to call out and say, "It was not me who brought this evil, it was others. We have suffered too." These great evils did not spring from the Diné, but from those outside. You are from Outside. It is we who came to the Yellow World to this place. You did not come from the Yellow World to this place. You, from Outside – why did you not ask why, when your people created this Evil? Who should be held to account?

"And we, too, dream, and talk of the dreams, and what we see. We see the call by good Mother Abagail to her home, and to the Free Zone.

"We also see that the great plague has freed many evil spirits from their evil bodies, and brought forth a great Witch."

"What does God do with the evil that a man has done? Some say he takes their spirit up, with good and bad, and allows for redemption in the next life. Some say he makes them all-good and brings them to heaven. Or they are all-bad and sends them to Hell. Does that sound sensible, true Christianity? Would not God bring forth the good that lives in a man, leaving off the husk of evil to stay behind?"

"Navajo believe that the husk of sin and injustice is shed when a man dies; and when many men dies, the world becomes a sea of these little evil wisps, these _**chindi**_. When they whirl about, they gather like a whirl of fire above the bonfire, and bring forth creatures of great evil. This great evil in the death of millions created this great witch that is your Dark Man, your Hardcase. You have brought it forth by your bad science, your own guilt. The evil he embodies is all the evil of your people from Outside. The sins that made him strong were not the sins of the Diné."


	8. The Indictment The Verdict

CHAPTER 15. IN BALANCE

Our weakness is that we are a merciful and trusting people. In our law, we hold that "It is the duty and responsibility of the Diné' to protect and preserve the beauty of the natural world for future generations."

The Blue-eyed Girl was sent to protect and to heal many cruelties that have come unto us all, after the great plague and before. There is so much to the world that bilagáana cannot see, that lies in plain sight. She fulfills the wishes of powers that you do not know, and is protected by so much that you cannot see.

"Do you know that you were followed down from the mountains of dawn by _Náshdóítsoh_ \- the - watcher? Since you came down to Pagosa Mountain, First Angry Mountain, you have been guarded. You have been watched over, and this is noticed. _Náshdóítsoh_ told us of your coming.

Many bilagáana bring wrong and evil in their wake. Never have we seen _Náshdóítsoh_ follow one, except to take the life of one that threatens us.

The girl has a purpose that brings together the Diné and bilagáana. We can put things right in a way that helps both our people. The Elder Mothers wish to speak with her again."

Tsipei stood, the elder men stood, and began to walk towards the doorway. They stopped, and turned to the men from the Zone, still seat-ed. "Come, come now!" an old man waved them along. "Let's go." He called to them as a shepherd would; they followed.

The men's wait took hours and hours. When Judy came out, she was wearing a small but beautiful turquoise pendant, set in finely wrought silver, which hung on a longer chain beneath the white bear. She almost seemed to glow from within like the little white bear did when in sunrise.

"Judy Blue they are calling me, as my protector name. If you go any-where in the Land, tell anyone that you go under command of Judy Blue, and they will grant you passage and protection."

CHAPTER 16. THE VERDICT AND THE RECKONING

Tsipei appeared silently, and sat at the yellow table. The seven travelers walked in and seated themselves.

"So we have decided – You, the Selected, may come to the portal of our land, by the Shell Mountain in the East, in the valley of Alamosa. Do not travel out of view of Shell Mountain - your life will be taken. Nobody else is allowed into our land by pain of death."

"Other travelers will be turned away at the east portal, at Shell Mountain. If bilagáana do not heed the order, they will be killed. If they seek the Free Zone, we will direct them."

" _Doklízhe etáhdeh_ – Judy Blue – is welcome to visit, but must follow the law of the bilagáana."

Do not enter our land from any other path. Bilagáana will be killed if they enter our land by other way, regardless of who they are – even you.

Dinétah is closed to all, from East and West, North and South. The interstate of middle New Mexico and Arizona – the I-40 – is sealed to travelers. It crosses our land.

"The wicked Walkin' Man and his witchery forces from Las Vegas, Nevada will be stopped at the border. Do not fear their entry into our land. We have great force to repel evil. They shall not cross land to the South."

"This time of the suffering of the bilagáana, the Hwéeldi you have loosed upon yourselves, is not the matter of the Diné. You all may live, or die. The Witchery Way of the bilagáana may prevail upon your people of the Free Zone, and wipe those who follow the Right Way. Or you may forever battle each other. This is not the concern of the Diné. We stay on Holy Land of Dinétah and remain detached. Pray to God, but do not ask us to intervene in this matter"

"We are sorry. That is the new law."

Judy felt deflated. The Navajo were enjoying the opportunity to flex their muscles, now that Captain Trips had cleared out the neighborhood and nobody was left to hassle them. Okay. Now you get to be a nation, an intact tribe, nobody around to hassle you. 'Kay, got that.

Abruptly, Tsipei wandered from simple recitation of rules of the agreement, into ways of thought that could not be followed.

"The Free People are warned. Dark Girl shall not approach our land. If the people of the Free Zone bring Dark Girl, we shall have war. She is guided by First Angry Coyote – we have seen this in our dreams. Judy Blue is guided by the Great Coyote who was formed in the water of the First World."

"Dark Girl trails up the gloom of the First World to the Fourth World. When a spirit of First Angry walks among us, terrible things happen."

"First World was without light, like the blackness between the stars, like the dark behind the world. First World was before there was light."

And spun through Judy's mind, _terra autem erat inanis et vacua, et tenebræ erant super faciem abyssi : et spiritus Dei ferebatur super aquas_.

The Land was thus formless and void, and _tenebræ_ – utter darkness, darkness that would quench any light – lay upon the face of the abyss, and the Spirit of God rushed across these black waters.

That is what the Bilagáana Bible says of the First World, thought Judy. _Puella tenebrae, niña de la oscuridad_. That concept seemed to spook the Navajo greatly.

The Diné were always a little superstitious, a little spooky and watchful of evil - but you live in the wild where Plague Central sweeps down through the Four Corners every once in a while, you learn to be a little hy-per-vigilant.

They were willing to share intelligence, and that was great, seeing that nobody in the Free Zone had the slightest idea about establishing outposts and listening points. Okay. Job done, trip over, the Navajos didn't mind having the home field advantage over the bilagáana for a change. They moved the Front Door to Navajo Country up to Blanca Peak, let's all meet in Alamosa. That's only 200 miles down from Boulder, hop and a skip. Go down, pick up some carrots and taters, pass the news, and roll on back home.

But yet, more mystical hints about She-Who-Ain't-Welcome, okay, and how the Walkin' Man was just exactly what the Diné were talking about when they said there were witches around, and they were probably right. 10-4, let's save it for the next roundup.

Projecting the inner serenity that comes out from dog-tired exhaustion, talks and gifts and farewells, and back to Farmington, where they hadn't even turned on the heat in the rooms. Everything was just hunky-dory, and they bedded down for the night; the evening chased on towards the morning of the next day.


	9. Turning in the Darkness

Turning in the Darkness

Judy slid into a black, dreamless world. Slowly, her mind arose in sleep to a limitless, formless plain and she was alone. From a great distance came a living being who could not be seen, but who came on towards her.

The being circled her silently several times. After the first time he circled, she could tell what is far from what is near. After the second time he circled, she could tell north and south. After the third time he circled, she could tell forms of things, although all was black and she could not see. The spirit-being sat quietly in front of her, on her left.

"I am _Cahdidoth-dani-gosai_ , Turning-in-the-Darkness. I am come from First Angry Coyote, maker of the Coyote Mountain, by the _Hajinei_. And even if you do not like me, you will still need me for many things."

"I have come to tell you of the other way. You and I are special partners. I am named Blue Coyote. You seek wisdom. Thus, you must know the Other Way."

"These Diné people are tricksters – I know them. They call Coyote sly and untrustworthy. We say the same of them. You come to visit them with gifts – they treat you as an enemy. You tell them of your plan of what you will do. They will let you suffer and risk, and they will sit there and do nothing. They will not help you – they want you to help them. Is that what is right?"

"They blame bilagáana for their suffering – but do they not walk on two legs as well? There is a Way of Animals, and a Way of Man. The Dine cannot separate Diné or the bilagáana from the Way of Man. Do they think that bilagáana are Animals?"

"They treat Darkness Girl as their enemy, and will kill her if she comes to them. Is that so brave? They fear her, that she may follow the ways of my father."

"Before all - Grandfather Spirit was having a hard time coming up with an image to make First Man and First Woman in. Coyote later came to Grandfather Spirit to see how the creations were coming. When Coyote saw Grandfather Spirit was having trouble with First Man and First Woman, Coyote with all his magic, turned himself into an image of a man. When Grandfather Spirit saw this, he thanked Coyote and went to work on First Man in the image Coyote showed him. Once Grandfather Spirit created First Man out of Mother Earth, he then blew life into First Man. Grandfather Spirit told First Man that he will make First Man a mate. Grandfather Spirit started making an image of First Woman that looked exactly like First Man. Coyote then said "No, no, no, Grandfather. First Man won't want a woman who looks like his attractiveness. Here is how First Woman should look like." Then Coyote again transformed himself into am image of a woman. Grandfather Spirit studied this image and went to work on creating First Woman out of Mother Earth. When done, First Woman looked just like the image of the woman that Coyote showed Grandfather Spirit. Grandfather Spirit then blew life into First Woman, and First Man and Grandfather Spirit said that this was good. Grandfather Spirit told First Man and First Woman that they are now the new leaders of the land and to treat Mother Earth, and all who dwell on it, like family, because they all come from Mother Earth. Grandfather Spirit thanked Coyote for his help and to show his thanks, he gave Coyote more magical powers than any other animal. So First Man and First Woman dwelt in the First World with coyotes."

"First Man and First Woman, and Great Coyote-Who-Was-Formed-in-the-Water, conspired together, they planned that there should be a Sun, a Moon, and day and night. They tricked my Father, and hid from him, fearing that he was the bringer of unhappiness."

"They wished to create only one Thing, from which the Other derived, as Grandfather Spirit wished to create First Woman just like First Man. Moon just like Sun, Night just like Day. One Was – the other Was Not. There was Man, and his complement, Woman."

"My father knew that there could be no true partnership of one thing that Exists, and another that merely is its Shadow."

"He made the Sun and Moon be independent, as he made Men and Women to be different, and the Night and Day to ever change; and made the twelve months of the Sun will be 13 months of the Moon."

"Thirteen is the number of woman. She lives in the four ages. For thirteen years of thirteen moons, Girl forms in the Darkness. After thirteen years of thirteen moons, Girl begins to change to Woman and becomes ready to bear child. You are in the Time of Change."

"But you belong neither to the Night nor Day, to the world of Man or Woman, different from one, and also different from the other. You serve your own will, and do not belong to the natural order of anything."

"No wonder the Diné do not respect you! They mock you and use you for their own purpose. Think carefully of my Father's gifts to all the people of the Fourth World."

Blue Coyote rose, and turned about her. After the first turn, she could no longer experience his form from the rest of the darkness. After the next turn, she knew neither North nor South. After the last turn about her, she could not tell Far from Near, and Blue Coyote departed.

And Judy dreamed on in darkness.


	10. The Flood

**C** **H** **A** **PTER** **14.** **THE** **FLO** **OD**

Rushing, rushing through darkling sky, _fer_ _eb_ _ántur_ _,_ and not alone, _cum_

 _s_ _píritu D_ _é_ _o fere_ _b_ _ántu_ _r_ , with the Spirit moving, though all was dark, _ó_ _mnes ten_ _é_ _bra_ _e_ , moving as one with the Spirit. The light of stars shimmered far below in the depths, _scintíllae_ _in_ _l_ _ú_ _ce_ _stellá_ _ru_ _m_ _infra_ _abý_ _ss_ _i_ , darkness on the face of the deep, _te_ _n_ _ébrae_ _é_ _rant_ _s_ _úper_ _fáciem_ _a_ _b_ _ýssi_ , starlight piercing the moonless sky _, et_ _n_ _ítor sidé_ _ru_ _m sic_ _órtus e_ _s_ _t._ The poet might say,

 _Ut_ _á_ _utem_ _érat in_ _á_ _nis et_ _vá_ _cua, et ten_ _é_ _brae érant_

 _a_ _d_ _f_ _á_ _ciem abýssi,_ _et_ _ó_ _mnes tené_ _br_ _ae cum spíritu_ _D_ _éo ferebánt_ _u_ _r trans_ _á_ _quas,_

 _scin_ _tí_ _l_ _l_ _ae_ _in_ _l_ _úce stel_ _l_ _á_ _rum_ _de_ _í_ _nfra_ _a_ _b_ _ýssi, et n_ _í_ _tor_ _sidérum_ _sic_ _ó_ _rtus est_ _í_ _ll_ _e_ i.

Across and across they flew, pine mountains flaming up before green Northern Lights, and dark milky water beneath, spangled with stars and spattered with ice; and clouds, noctilucent below, scattered about in a soft glowy blanket rising up off the water.

At a throat of a deep mountain pass, a faint line arose in the distance, shadowy, sharp and white, a line leaping across the lake near the moun- tains, high white col ridge line. Towards it they sped.

They raced downward, lowering fast, below the tips of the mountains embracing the great chill lake. The white line gained form, roughened, it rose and widened, it towered over the lake's white waters. The line now a white cliff soaring over milky grey in the starlight. Upon the craggy heights of that chill cliff, they alit in the gloom. Her shadowy partner stood in the starlight beside her, a tall woman, twice her height.

Upon the harsh ice, she struck her staff sharply; the cliff shuddered

faintly, then in a crisp flash, the moon appeared full overhead, blazing with frozen white fire, lighting the world in a pure silver glow.

" _Wh_ _o are_ _y_ _ou_ _?_ _"_ asked Judy.

" _Anna Oli_ _v_ _ia,_ _the_ _S_ _h_ _e_ _p_ _h_ _erd of_ _Waters._ _Over_ _waters a_ _n_ _d_ _s_ _p_ _rin_ _g_ _s and_ _limit- le_ _s_ _s ocean_ _s_ _, I_ _a_ _m."_

She was robed in clean white, a deep hooded mantle of radiant blue drawn over her gown. Her hood was thrust back, and long cinnamon hair swayed lightly in the breeze. Her face was as pale as the ice.

Judy looked up. She stood just by her companion's waist. Wordlessly, Anna handed down a deep blue mantle to Judy. It was soft and comfort- ing. The chill of the night's air vanished. Judy felt warm and embraced.

Judy asked, _"Wh_ _e_ _r_ _e are we?_ _Wh_ _at is this place_ _?_ _"_

No answer. Down the steep cliff to the water's edge, the wind whipped up whitecaps on the water. A soft susurrating pulse of sound raised up from the waters now and again, in swaying rhythm. Judy could see a line of lake surf below, beating the base of the great glacier, a thread- like line waxing and waning. A gull.

Wordlessly, Anna Olivia reached for her hand. They darted away from the cliff, above the blocky ice. They alit on the edge at the far side of the great icy wall. This cliff stood above the black gulf between the mountains, tenébrous, unseen.

Peering into the void and the moonlit mountains, Anna Olivia struck her staff again on the ice. Suddenly all glittered with sunlight; Judy was blinded in brightness, snowy and dazzling. The mountains and hills were solidly shielded with dappled green. At a dizzying distance be- neath, small streams led the meltwater out from the great dam of ice to a

shimmering sapphire lake. In the numinous North, velvet black clouds

loomed afar, over a horizon of ice scraping the sky.

Great streams gathered far below – how far? Trees, a carpet of green, like nubbly moss, a chasm in shadow below the enchained lake. Leaping into the misty distance, the broad icewall marched straight from their standing-place, on to the mountains Southwest on which it was leashed.

Wordlessly waiting, Anna Olivia snatched Judy's sleeve, held her hand and they soared up the side of the mountain that anchored the north end of the dam. They stood and watched the little rivers gleaming as they poured down the valley, heading West.

To the east was the lake, beautiful but sterile; opalescent turquoise, but milky, filled with the pulverized mountain, glacial flour that was ground from the granite bedrock into the finest powder. It pervaded the lake, far too fine to settle to the bottom, but endlessly scattered through the lake water; no life could survive. The lake shimmered, beautiful, dead.

Anna Olivia raised her staff, and called out in a great clear voice that echoed across the waters:

 _ **L**_ _ **ÍBERU**_ _ **M**_ _ **!**_ __ _ **L**_ _ **í**_ _ **b**_ _ **erum**_ _ **f**_ _ **áctum**_ __ _ **á**_ _ **q**_ _ **uae.**_ __ _ **G**_ _ **lácies**_ __ _ **frácta!**_ _ **E**_ _ **rúmpe! Prof**_ _ **ú**_ _ **nde!**_ __ _ **Haec**_ __ _ **á**_ _ **q**_ _ **uae**_ __ _ **revívent.**_ __ _ **Revivi**_ _ **t**_ _ **ót**_ _ **e**_!1

Then rapidly and quietly, in prayer: " _ **Sic**_ __ _ **énim**_ __ _ **d**_ _ **í**_ _ **x**_ _ **it**_ __ _ **Dó**_ _ **mi**_ _ **nus**_ __ _ **D**_ _ **é**_ _ **us:**_

 _ **Cong reg éntur**_ __ _ **á q uæ,**_ __ _ **qu æ**_ __ _ **su b**_ __ _ **c aé lo**_ __ _ **su nt,**_ __ _ **in**_ __ _ **l ócu m**_ __ _ **únum**_ __ _ **:**_ __ _ **et**_ __ _ **a**_ _ **p**_ _ **p**_ _ **áreat**_

1 _F_ _REE!_ _L_ _et the waters_ _b_ _e f_ _r_ _ee._ _L_ _et the ice_ _be broke_ _n_ _! Break forth! Let the_ _deep flow!_ _Thus shall t_ _h_ _e wa-_

 _ters be re_ _s_ _tored to l_ _i_ _fe._ _May they live!_

 _ **árid**_ _ **a**_ _ **. Et**_ __ _ **fáct**_ _ **u**_ _ **m**_ __ _ **est**_ __ _ **it**_ _ **a**_ _ **. Et**_ __ _ **v**_ _ **o**_ _ **c**_ _ **á**_ _ **vit**_ __ _ **D**_ _ **é**_ _ **us**_ __ _ **ár**_ _ **i**_ _ **dam**_ __ _ **Ter**_ _ **r**_ _ **a**_ _ **m**_ _ **,**_ __ _ **c**_ _ **o**_ _ **n**_ _ **g**_ _ **re**_ _ **g**_ _ **a-**_

 _ **tio**_ _ **n**_ _ **é**_ _ **s**_ _ **que**_ __ _ **a**_ _ **q**_ _ **u**_ _ **á**_ _ **r**_ _ **um**_ __ _ **appe**_ _ **l**_ _ **l**_ _ **ávit**_ __ _ **M**_ _ **ária.**_ __ _ **Et**_ __ _ **v**_ _ **ídit**_ __ _ **D**_ _ **eus**_ __ _ **qu**_ _ **o**_ _ **d**_ __ _ **esset**_ __ _ **b**_ _ **ón**_ _ **u**_ _m_ _ **. Fiat v**_ _ **o**_ _ **lúntas t**_ _ **ú**_ _ **a**_ _._ _2_ _"_

She cried out a loudly a second time, _**F**_ _ **í**_ _ **at**_ __ _ **stát**_ _ **im**_ _ **!**_ 3 And struck her staff on the great mountain.

The rocky heights heaved and swayed. Steep slopes of the mountains over the lake broke free and slowly slid, tumbling covering trees and chill soil towards the white-green water that surged into surf far below.

In the dark valley, a hillock arose, still topped by trees, soaring straight up above the lap of the valley, a round high mountain that instantly burst with a blast echoing across the timber. A great gout, like lava, leaped skyward from cracks in its crown, soaring, muddy and flecked with trees, a great brown trunk thrust up from the Earth, rising and rising as high as the lake behind. A heaved hill of mud raced from the great earth eruption and burrowed under the icy dam, lifting it upwards, an icy wave under its arc, and the dam shrieked. It began slowly to belly out, deliver its water into the chasm beneath. It cried out with deafening booms and tormented screams as the lake pushed it forth.

The icy massif exploded. Ice heaved forward in great shimmering tab- lets upon the massive leap of turquoise water born groaning from the lake. The deep-earth ripple raced southward under the belly of the ice wall, soon far away, lost in the mist.

The massive, boiling lake launched into the living valley beneath the high mountains. The noise might have deafened Judy, but for the hood

2 _Thus_ _said the_ _L_ _ord thy God, "_ _L_ _et the waters th_ _a_ _t_ _are_ _un_ _der the heaven_ _come together i_ _n_ _to o_ _n_ _e plac_ _e_ _, a_ _n_ _d_

 _let dry grou_ _n_ _d appear._ _A_ _n_ _d it was so. Let thy will_ _be do_ _n_ _e._

3 _L_ _et it be do_ _n_ _e_ _n_ _ow!_ _or_ _I_ _t_ _will_ _happen_ _i_ _m_ _med_ _i_ _ately!_

of the cloak, muffling the dissonance. The cacophony pounded her body

like hail.

A muddy mist leaped up high over the mountains, and in the Western sky, a rainbow appeared.

Anna Olivia seized Judy's shoulder, and they soared upwards, saw the great lake sliding into the valley's chasm. It tore the horizon, blazing into the virgin valley beyond, hurling gouts of dust and trees aloft.

Judy and Anna raced far downstream, ahead of the tumult, watching the wreckage of the water, as it drowned tall hills and leaped from high cliffs. A grey sea of antelope were grazing upon the prairie, when the rolling holocaust blasted in from afar; they fled the roaring monster in terror, but not fast enough; they were overtopped and caught up in the churning of boulders and trees and soil in the awful race of the storm.

The monstrous horizon of wreckage exploded over great hills and swallowed wide meadows. It scoured the deep valleys and laid low the mesas under its brown wrathful surge.

A village, far off in the distance, in the valley, scattering, screaming at the wall of wreckage thundering at them. They were overtopped, they were gone.

Judy wept.

They veered back over the valley, the turquoise sea boiling and racing, across the waters, the darkness crept in. Anna Olivia snatched her up in flight and tucked the brim of Judy's hood down deep over her bosom, cloaking her in dark warmth.

Judy slept.


	11. Sh-t Gets Weird

Furthur

The little expedition to Farmington returned, slow and tired. There was nothing to be said, that wasn't already said.

The expedition came up through the southern mountains by Chama and Antonito; through Alamosa in the Big Valley; up into the Springs.

Judy was clicking through daytime thoughts, pressing back the eerie dreams of last night.

They had a working relationship with the Navajo at Farmington.

The Navajo and the Free Zone could exchange information on the doings of the Dark Man on the Dark lands.

The Navajo bargain with the Free Zone was to be run by Judy, under the name of "Judy Blue."

Only Judy Blue or an associate could visit the Eastern Portal to the Land, under the eye of Shell Mountain, in Alamosa.

Bilagáana who strayed out of the protective sight of Shell Mountain, die.

Any bilagáana except, for the seven travelers, who was caught uninvited on Navajo land, die.

The radio was hazy and crappy, like sunspots, and any signal out of Boulder was just ten-one-dogshit, breaker, breaker. They gave up trying to raise the Free Zone.

As the Hippies of Old would say, FURTHUR! To go on with the quest.

So they returned to Colorado Springs, before they were beset by a heavy fatigue, and slept dreamlessly, like the dead. And the evening and the morning brought the next day.

When Shit Gets Weird North Boulder

Just to remind you, this time was back before Mother Abagail had gotten her little flock trickling into in Hemingford Home, Nebraska in dribs and drabs, from all over. All the refugees had dreamed about Mother Abagail; and they dreamed some of Mother Abagail in the Free Zone, too. And there were folks trickling into the Free Zone, coming from the East and up from the South too, and a few even came in from the West, over the mountains on the Seventy, down into the charnelhouses that were the Springs and Denver, and up through to Boulder. A trickle.

They'd set out informal watches for the folks coming in town, who were usually beat and ragged.

The Free Zone folks still hadn't put together the common sense to start up the Harvesting of Denver. Later on, they'd be going around Denver and getting supplies. What once held about three million people, and now held about three hundred million pieces of crow fodder, hither and yon.

Somebody had jury-rigged up a construction water-spray truck and put it half-full of rubbing alcohol from a big chemical plant, some formaldehyde, too. You could drive through downtown Denver where the bodies were heaped, and spray 'em down with this ghastly brew. _Drive-By Embalming Company!_ somebody painted on the side. Drivers had to wear a gas mask so's not to get sick from the fumes. They couldn't stop the truck when they were spraying, else the fumes would catch up to them and make them sick. But that was Denver, that was a little later, and that's a little bit off-track for this story.

Fortunately, the Good Stuff was mostly out in the industrial warehouses - it was just finding out which ones had what. That operation picked up later on. It sure helped when they had the trucks running down to Denver - but that's after Mother Abagail got in town, that's later.

The prairiebillies off the High Plains had trickled into Denver. A lot of them went directly through Denver to bust the Rockies and get to the Promised Land of Las Vegas. God help them that went into Navajo Land. There were a lot of hardlife bastards and thugs, like Richard Hickock and that sick little shrimp Perry Smith. A few were good honest High Plains Westerners, who could shoe a horse, make a jacket, cobble and make do without being spoilt and hand-fed, like many Easterners that come in with empty hands and hungry bellies. Those kind turned north to Boulder, to the Free Zone.

By the Brewery

It was a little strange for Judy to be scrounging around up north of Boulder, alone, thought Bart - I mean, there's Longmont and Greeley and Cheyenne up north, not real big cities like Denver. He thought she was still down in New Mexico. Now, she was towing a different trailer. And it wasn't the Dooley she was driving, but a beat pickup, a new one, but pretty laden-down. And she come in strange, wary.

Bart was put on guard. Something didn't seem right. The truck was beat – What's Judy doing, driving this thing. Tthe tires were thin. The trailer was beat too, and muddy, and there hasn't been rain in the last week.

Bart Smith suddenly had a lot to think about, on this usually dead-boring checkpoint, north past the brewery on the 119. They didn't have a barricade on the road, just a watcher or two, like I said. That road comes down out of Fort Collins, and the I-25 runs down to Trinidad just east of the mountains. It was a watchpoint for Highway I-80.

Bart waved. Judy pulled off WAY far up the road, a hundred yards or so, just stopped and watched him. She had binoculars, he could see the flash of sunlight on the lenses. Finally, she came out of the truck wearing a gunbelt with a pistol, and a carbine rifle slung back across her shoulder. She wasn't looking happy.

Judy came up to about twenty yards, hailing distance, and stopped. Bart was just standing, trying to stand relaxed, which he wasn't.

 _"What are you doing here? What do you want?"_ she asked, none too friendly.

 _"It's just me, Bart Smith. I pulled the daytime watch on the 119."_

They eyeballed each other. Must not have gone too well down in Farmington. And what's she coming down from the North for? Hadn't heard they were back from Farmington.

She looked beat. She looked thin, and a lot less healthy. And dirty. And her hair was shorter, it was cut up above the shoulders - but streaky, greasy.

" _It's Bart. Smith. Say, girl, you look awful. You drive up to Fort Collins for vacation or something?"_ Bart laughed a little, here's ya some humor, let's simmer down this storm that seems to be gathering between them.

She stared worse, a gunslinger's stare. Bart was pretty sure something had happened that made her go crazy. It would be a good time to run away now.

 _"Dammit, Judy, what's wrong? What happened to you?"_ Now that got greeted with an openmouth stare, and after a second or two, she said _"What did you call me?"_

Bart got the queasy feeling he was about to say sayonara to the ol' planet pretty soon, and spoke his last breath. _"Judy."_

 _"You know Judy? Where is she? Is she alive?"_ An earnest expression swept over her face, as she walked in on him. As she came in, he began to notice that she wasn't quite Judy, exactly. Same, but not quite. That helped him from bolting and running from this crazy woman.

 _"I thought you was Judy. You ain't Judy? Because you're a spitting image of her, then."_

 _"My name is June Hernandez. I come out of Chicago, running from the big plague like everyone else. I come across from Iowa and Nebraska. I had dreams of a sanctuary someplace out here. And of - (she paused) - other things. I'm searching for my family, if any are alive"_

Bart smiled at his boots. _"Well, I expect you'll be wanting to meet Judy Hernandez. Her looking like you and all."_ Had he not been looking at his boots, he might have braced himself for the exploding hug that crashed into him, full-on June. That surprise was followed instantly with loud and caterwauling bawling straight into his ear, calf-in-a-fence bawling, full-on, body-shaking sobbing.

 _"She's alive!"_

At least she had the foresight to unsling the carbine and drop it in the dirt, Bart mused. Woulda hit me in the side of the head, muzzle like to tore up my ear, she didn't.

After a good five minutes of bawling and carrying on, and snot, my goodness could that girl make snot, and she could stand on her own without bursting into tears again, they got her cleaned up with some bottled water and a rag. A good cry after an exhausting drive through highways littered with corpse-wagons, that doesn't make you look your best. But what she did have on was a glowing smile, and that looked just fine.

He told her, pretty careful and slow because she didn't look like she could pay attention much, _"I better stay up here, June. Go down about two mile, stay to the right and it turns into Iris Street, and up off 19th Street, take a right onto it, and look for the big Dooley parked out the side. That's Judy's house."_

Well, just saying Judy's name was good for a couple of minutes of weeping, and snot - this girl never seems to run out of that - and a few more hugs, although a little less explosive.

After all that, Bart asked _"You good to drive?"_ She nodded. _"Hey, one more thing, very important. Don't go prowling around her trailer, next to the house. She don't care about if you wander all over the house, stay the hell away from the trailer."_

Casa de Hernandez

Well, June made it down there, and some neighbors came by for a looky-loo; they had never seen Judy look so beat up, and June told them she was June, and that they were twins.

 _"She never mentioned one thing about you,"_ said a helpful and somewhat tactless neighbor.

 _"I thought she was dead. She thought I was dead, probably. We were going to go on without the other."_ Now, with the sniffing and bawling, it probably took her two minutes to get that all out.

They walked her into Judy's house, and she looked around a little. She splashed her face with some fresh water from the bucket in the kitchen, wiped her face off with a dishtowel, and promptly looked like she was about to drop where she stood. She politely chatted up the neighbors, fielded a few nosy and inane questions, discovered the bedroom, and dropped face-down onto the bed and passed out. The neighbors let themselves out straight off. _"Poor thing,"_ one said. And they charged off to spread the news like wildfire.

Downtown

When Chew got wind the news, that there was this twin sister to Judy in town, he sighed and said, "More work to do, more work to do," and went off to his garage. There was the sound of hammering, much hammering, and a little harsh hissing - he had a blowtorch in there, a little one. "Go away, working on a surprise," he'd say to visitors. Nobody had the slightest idea what he was talking about, and more than a few worried he wasn't clever enough to handle a torch, he'd burn the garage down.

Reunion Up from the South

The Farmington Crew rolled up from the Springs. They'd camped up north of town a bit, so as to miss the stink coming up off the flatlands. The radio had just quit; it wasn't worth it to find another CB. There was just nothing new to say.

The Free Zone was like a little burg, so of course when they run up the 36 to the University, they slowed down and stopped. There was a gob of people milling about, what looked to be a Renaissance Faire without the medieval duds, or a Sixties Flash mob maybe. Or somebody had gotten into the brewery, and opened a few dozen kegs.

This surprise party didn't please the travelers, no, not in the least. After busting a thousand miles, camping out, and dealing with the Navajo - good people, wonderful neighbors, but exhausting - the expeditioners wanted to

Not be driving.

Not talk.

Sleep in a bed.

Take a hot shower.

Be left the hell alone.

That was especially true of Judy Blue or whatever they called her, made up a Navajo ID card, stamped right there "NOT TRIBAL MEMBER," and named Judy Blue. A few Navajo words in the ID, laminated, there ya go. She hardly ever drank liquor, but she had a sudden craving for a shot of whiskey, a warm glass of milk, and a nap.

They pulled over to see what had gotten into the local bunch to bring forth this kind of merriment. They all walked over to the lawn, where people were cavorting and having a real merry old time. There were a few barrels of tapped ale at a little stand, which entirely went along with the crowd's merriness. A bundle of cavorters rushed up to the Farmington Crew and started hooting _"It's June! June is here!"_

They were completely befuddled. This June wasn't one to remember. This June is the one that had Captain Trips crash the party. If there was ever a month to shut up and slink away, it was this month.

The shiny button eyes and the intensity of the glee in the little crowd suggested chemical stimulants of some sort _. "June! June is here! She's here!"_

Judy yelled out - _"June who?"_ and a few cries came back _"Your June! Your sister! It's June! She's here!"_

Judy

Judy, who'd walked around the front of the truck for a stretch, promptly dropped into a pile, looking like abandoned laundry, immobile, for a second as though she had been raptured and left only her duds behind. Head, between her knees, sobbing.

 _"WHERE IS SHE?"_

 _"At your house. Back at your house. Your house,"_ came the chorus.

This whole party was about June! Life! That was why all these goofs were dancing around. Her sister June was alive.

Home

Mr. Sandoval drove her home like an uncle taking care of a battered niece. Judy sat there, looked mostly stunned, kept putting her hands over her face, said nothing.

It was only a mile or so away from the University to Judy's house. A beat-up muddy trailer and nondescript pickup were pulled up on the road in front. The Welcome Wagon fandango of Free Zoners had departed, leaving June alone to sleep.

Mr. Sandoval and Judy walked in. The place was quiet, the shades were drawn. It looked like a place where somebody was trying to sleep. They walked in the bedroom, and a person or body or something was face-down, fully-dressed, on the pillow. Judy said _"June?"_ but no answer. She began to poke at her butt with her finger - _"June? June? June?"_ A cross and muffled _"What?"_ came through the pillow. _"It's Judy! You're alive!"_

From the pillow, _"Hey, Sis. Sleeping. K?"_ Judy felt all the exhaustion from all of the days of pilgrimage catch up to her at once, flooding her body. She lay down next to June. Mr. Sandoval put a blanket over them, left them there, snoozing side-by-side.

Downtown

The Hey June party rolled on through the dusk, loud and unabated, the absence of the maids of honor regardless. They were out like little lights, working up a good case of morning breath. The party was about Life, a ray of life in the face of Death. The twins were be lights-out, but everyone else could dance and crow about them. The rockin' party wound down when the coyotes began to howl up in the hills


	12. Ben Sandoval Cooks Breakfast

At a judicious hour around 9AM, Ben Sandoval let himself in, and started cooking up a little treat for breakfast for the girls. His nurturing instinct had somehow gone full tilt now that the twins were together in town.

Eggs and bacon, and some hot coffee, and milk with real cream. Masa harina biscuits, and beans, fresh beans up from the Alamosa Valley. A few moms had made some flour tortillas; they were steaming hot. Between scrounging and foraging and some pretty simple old-time farming, he pulled together a fine old breakfast.

About halfway in, he banged on the door a little, and called out - "You girls gonna sleep ALL DAY?" Nothing happened the first time; he tried a few minutes later. He almost brought in coffee.

They were still asleep under the blanket, dropped like little ragdolls, spooned up like they were little kids. No surprise. They looked pretty peaceable. Betcha there was some foul morning breath, though.


End file.
